Switchblade
by Flying Robin
Summary: APH 2p!Australia and 2p!New Zealand Warning: blood


(There is no official name for APH Australia but there's a few fannon ones. I'll be using the names my RP group uses for the 2ps. Jett = Australia, Rewiti = New Zealand)

Jett stood in the deserted hallway; head bowed, ash-blonde hair shadowing his face.

He stared at the half-dead body lying in front of him, his face unreadable.  
The metallic stench of blood floated up from the blood pooled around the body, seeping out from a deep wound in the man's stomach.

He stared at the limp form, his pale blue eyes dulled to an emotionless grey.  
Years ago, Jett would have felt sick from just the sight of blood, but he has gotten used to it since then. It is even pleasant at times when it's coming from the right person.

_"This is for hurting my brother."_

He spoke softly to the victim, his tone holding no malice or bitterness. He used a quiet voice, no emotion put in the words.  
The victim's eyes watched the teen walked closer to him, a feeling of fear soon replacing the man's pain as Jett stood over him.

Jett gazed down at the man. He bent down, his grey eyes locking the with the man's brown ones. Without breaking eye contact, he swiftly kicked the man in the stomach, right beside the bloody wound.

The man spluttered, coughing up blood, almost choking from the amount of blood in his mouth. He groaned, gurgling the dark liquid, and making it splatter out onto the floor.

"Still alive, eh?" Jett spoke in a whisper, no emotion evident in his tone. "Better fix that."

The victim's eyes widened, feeling a prickle of fear run up his spine as Jett's words slowly registered in his brain.  
The blonde teen slowly lifted up his right hand, the long sleeve of his sweater dropping down to reveal his hand. Grasped in his hand was a small, steel switchblade, blood dripping off the tip.

Jett's eyes flickered up, glancing at the other's face. He seemed to almost hesitate for a brief moment, but then his expression hardened.

In one swift, fluid movement, he plunged the blade deep into the man's chest.

The man let out a strangled gasp, mouth opening in shock. He moved his lips, trying to speak, but all that came out was a gargling noise.  
Jett watched as life left other's eyes, the man's dead body slumping on the ground.

He waited for a few seconds before pulling the switchblade out of corpse's chest, a trickle of blood flowing out as he did so.  
He stared down at the lifeless body on the floor, drinking in the view. This was a familiar sight now. Bloody wounds and dead body. Nothing new.  
This was not fighting. Not exactly. He hates fights. It was more of just stabbing anyone who had managed to hurt one of his family members.

He stared in silence, eyes focused on the body, but mind drifting elsewhere.

Riiiing! Riiiing! Riiing!

Jett jumped at the noise, eyes flooding back to their usual blue colour. He quickly fished in his pocket and pulled out a loudly-ringing phone.  
He tapped on the "accept call" button and held it to his ear.

"H-hello..?"

"Where the hell are you!? It's one in the morning!" His brother's voice rang out from the small device.  
Jett winced at the yelling, holding the phone a little ways away from his ear.

"I-I'm sorry Rewiti…I was reading in the library and lost track of time…" He gulped, looking down guiltily at his shoes.  
"Again?!" He heard a frustrated sigh from Rewiti.  
"Sorry…" Jett apologised.  
"Whatever, just get back home."

"Y-yes…" Jett murmured into the phone.  
"Get back safe. Bye." Rewiti hung up.  
Jett tucked the device back in his pocket, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

He glanced at the bloody body on the floor. Silently, he kneeled back down in front of him. He looked over the body, a small smile ghosting across his face.  
Switchblade still in hand, he leaned over, carefully wiping the blade clean of blood on the hem of the dead body's shirt. He flicked his wrist, closing the switchblade.  
He slipped the blade into his shirtsleeve, hiding it from view. He stood up, checking himself for any evidence that got onto his clothes.  
He found none – as always. He was always careful with his stabbings.

He gave one last fleeting look at the corpse before walking away.


End file.
